


Mark

by pyalgroundblz (acidtonguejenny)



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Dubious Consent, Kink Meme, M/M, No Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-09
Updated: 2011-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-22 10:10:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidtonguejenny/pseuds/pyalgroundblz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rashid observes silently, no doubt reading his confliction, his confusion in his body language or aura or some shit like that, something hard and tricky to master and nothing Harry will be able to do anytime soon. Spoilers for Changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mark

**Author's Note:**

> This fic can be set post-Changes or post-Ghost Story. Spoilers for Changes, none for Ghost Story.

When he appeared, the projection flickered.

Harry stops scratching at the snowflake scar beside his eye and looks over his shoulder. If the projector can survive him from this far, then who…?

"Rashid," He says, greeting and puzzlement in his tone. "Howdy."

The wizard's cowl tips forward in a nod as he draws closer. "Harry."

Harry pats the space of empty bench next to him in an invitation. When the Gatekeeper has seated himself in a swirl of robes, he gestures to the screen.

"The Last Man on Earth." He says. "1964. Classic."

"Hm. Perhaps that is your word for it." Is the reply, not unkindly meant. Rashid watches with a critical eye (Harry wonders how he can decide that; he can't _see_ the man's face, afterall) as the good doctor and his pretty wife sob over their sick child.

Harry grins, and laughs, after a moment. "Well, if you want to be that way-"

Rashid suddenly takes hold of his chin, jerks his face to the side and pulls so that Harry almost tumbles over. The younger wizard scrambles for the bench's backrest to support the awkward lean, and scolds into the murk of the Gatekeeper's hood. "Hey, what's the..."

His voice cracks like a boy's when Rashid touches the pad of one finger to the healing mark, and Harry jerks so violently he nearly losses his hard won balance. "Rashid- nngh."

As far as he'd been able to deduce from pond water reflections and spoons, Mab's mark for him is pretty much the same as the one he'd spied on Lloyd Slate, so long ago. Maybe the snowflake was a bit more complicated in design, but…Well. Spoons. That's just what it seemed like.

She'd placed it next to his left eye, close enough that he felt the tug of tightened skin whenever he blinked. The wound was about half-healed; it never broke open, didn't bled anymore, but the skin was inflamed and easily agitated, the scar tissue still relatively weak.

The whole thing was incredibly sensitive to touch. And it figured since, come on, Mab, that it was so difficult to decide if the sensation contact with it produced was pleasurable or painful.

Both, he thinks.

Harry clinches his teeth as the Gatekeeper moves his face this way and that, continuing to rub lightly over the red skin. _Fuck_ , that hurt.

He pushes into the other man's hand.

Rashid observes silently, no doubt reading his confliction, his confusion in his body language or aura or some shit like that, something hard and tricky to master and nothing Harry will be able to do anytime soon. When Harry moves, his finger stills over the scar, hovers just far enough away.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut to hide his reflexive glare.

The Gatekeeper sighs noisily through his nose, clearly somehow upset. Harry has half a mind to demand why, with what--mostly, because the other half is on the buzzing tickle at his temple, where that finger is so close to touching once more.

"Look at what you've done to yourself, Harry."

Harry flinches, hearing the reprimand, the disappointment in the words.

"I had to."

"Do you truly think so?" Hard. Cool, and warning.

Harry senses an edge beneath his feet, a chasm looming ahead. One false step…

"I would make some kind of comment about a draft--or a chill, but it seems like it would be in bad taste." He snaps. "You know, considering."

His mouth has always been faster than his brain.

In response, Rashid _presses_.

Harry cries out, grabs the wizard's forearm in a painful grip and leaves off his attempts to maintain his balance, falling against the Gatekeeper's side. His free hand pulls spastically on at the heavy cloth over Rashid's shoulder, desperate for some kind of anchor as the pain becomes excruciating.

Like his scalp is raggedly splitting, like blunt pressure on his eyes, like a hollow pipe to the teeth and the worst fucking headache he's had in ages and- and it.

Cumulates and bursts in something comparable to an orgasm. A ground-shaking, world-rocking orgasm, so huge and all consuming that it's not even physical. Harry is still limp in his jeans, but his brain is lighting up, his heart beating stupidly fast.

The cinema vanishes in a flash of white, and he can hear Mab's laughter in his ears.

In the aftermath, he twitches and convulses, groans, deep and pitiful as he weakly pushes off the Gatekeeper's shoulder and sprawls uncomfortably over the backrest.

The angle of the Gatekeeper's cowl, the vaguest shape of chin and mouth are fascinating. Harry sees awful resignation and horror, and a paralyzing fascination despite it all there, as he gulps air desperately.

Rashid's hand still reaches into the air between them, hanging awkwardly. He lowers it to rest on his knee and says, laughably grave, "We will have this conversation again, Knight."

Harry laughs more loudly than he means too, and doesn't examine the quality of madness in it.


End file.
